


curious about you

by anoraregina



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: LittleCaity is an enabler, M/M, PWP, blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 03:08:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2907047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anoraregina/pseuds/anoraregina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cole gets sucked off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	curious about you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LittleCaity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleCaity/gifts).



> this was in parts triggered by a long series of headcanons developed by myself and a friend of mine, by littlecaity’s encouragement (“i fully expect to see this posted the moment it’s finished”), and by my overwhelming desire to piss off certain ‘fans’ of cole – i shall use their bitter tears to extinguish the flames. it had to be done.
> 
> i should add that this is set a year after the end of the game with a human!cole. i like to imagine them all living in some fancy castle somewhere eating cheese platters and drinking copious amounts of wine. solas’ egg head is the butt of every joke. everyone shags everyone. it's beautiful.

Cole smells of lavender water and his own scented oils when he finds him; his fingertips still slightly wrinkled and softened by the perfumed water he’d just bathed in.  (Later, when Dorian runs his fingers through it, he’ll discover that Cole’s hair – cut shorter now at Dorian’s own command – is still damp.)  Cole always bathes luxuriously; it’s the only way Cole knows how to wash, for it was Dorian who taught him and Dorian refused to let Cole’s first bathing experience be a dull affair.  His cheeks are still pinked from the flush of heat emanating from the water, his lips parted and eyelids heavy.  

He’s sat on the edge of Dorian’s bed, dressed in clothes that he obviously didn’t pick out for himself – a black tunic with golden embroidery and dark fitted trousers.  If it were anyone else, perhaps Dorian would be surprised by their sudden and uninvited appearance in his bedchamber, but he knows Cole, trusts Cole, and finds himself simply approaching with a casual greeting bouncing readily off his tongue.

“Something I can help you with, Cole?”

Cole turns to look at him, eyes unblinking and focused.  They are brighter now than they were when they first met, Dorian notes.  His first year as a human has breathed colour into the young man.  He’s not as pale anymore, the dark veins that once riddled across his jaw faded, and the shadows under his eyes lightened.  He’s still scrawny, perhaps perpetually doomed to a sinewy frame, but he’s definitely put on weight after Varric and Blackwall finally succeeded in getting him to eat properly.  He’s cute, in a delicate sort of way; and certainly healthier looking than he was when they first met.

Cole’s features are pulled taut now – he’s thinking.  Dorian braces himself for the bizarre conversation about to ensue.  That was typically what followed one of Cole’s thinking faces.  What remained left to be seen was what the conversation would be about.  “You’re interested in men, Dorian.”

“Of a fashion, yes.  Why do you ask?”

“Are you interested in me?”

Dorian can’t tell if Cole is asking it innocently or not.  That’s the trouble with his being human now, half the time Dorian suspects that Cole is fully aware of what he’s doing, but it’s hard to tell, and Dorian knows better than to make assumptions about Cole and his intentions at this point.  He swallows, closing the door behind him quietly, before approaching Cole on the bed.  His bed. One day he’ll teach Cole about personal, private property.  One day Cole will listen to him.

“Is this about some self-discovery you’ve had, Cole?  Or something else entirely?”   _Was it prompted by Cole hearing something Dorian had thought?_  Dorian had never thought of Cole in such a way before, and Cole tended not to hear such things as much anymore, but it would still be easy for Cole to hear something and misinterpret it.

“You’re interested in men, and I’m a man, aren’t I?  Josephine always calls me a young man.  Do you not find me interesting?”

Dorian’s lips curl upwards at that, amused.  “I certainly find you interesting, Cole, but that’s not quite the same thing as being interested in you.”  Cole almost looks frustrated for a moment, and Dorian worries that he’s hurt the boy’s feelings, so he tries again.  “Why do you ask? Are you trying to say that _you_ are interested in men?”

“No,” Cole said, voice sounding far away.  “No, it’s not the same.  Why don’t you have an interest in me, Dorian?  I don’t understand.”  He said, before his eyes met Dorian’s again. “I want to understand.”  Cole says, firmly. 

Dorian pauses, momentarily, caught wrapped up in his thoughts.  Understand what? Why Dorian isn’t interested in him?  Or simply what ‘being interested in men’ means?  Dorian doubts anyone’s ever really taken the time to explain sexualities to Cole.  The Iron Bull and Blackwall each had made efforts to incite some interest in women in Cole – Bull through prostitutes (something Dorian still rolls his eyes at) and Blackwall through a frankly disturbing set of matchmaking attempts with serving girls.  As far as Dorian is aware, Cole was never swayed by any of the women thrust upon him.

He’s speechless for a few seconds, but Cole continues regardless.  “I _hear_ people’s interests. Blackwall likes to think about what’s under Josephine’s dress – so does Leliana.  Cullen remembers the time he swore he was in love with an elf called Surana.  Her brother only knew Tabris for a moment but he died trying to prove his love to her, anyway.  It hurts.  I don’t understand why people want it.”

Dorian wonders if it’s too early in the day to start drinking.

“Drinking makes you unhappy; you feel defeated, disappointed in yourself. You want to stop.”  Dorian shoots the younger man a look, and Cole looks down.

“You’re not the first person to remind me that I have a drinking problem, Cole.  You won’t be the last.”  Dorian quips, folding his arms across his chest in a purely defensive motion.  It’s a futile gesture, or course: he has nothing to fear from Cole, he knows that with absolutely certainty.  Cole has always been positively predisposed towards him.

_I'm curious about you, too.  You said I could ask you questions._

_"Love isn't enough."  Enough what?  You didn't explain, Dorian._

_Dorian, am I handsome?_

Now Dorian understands.  (At least, as much as he can understand Cole.)

He steps closer, leaning against the frame of the four poster bed.  Cole sits, cross-legged before him, still flushed, fragrant and drowsy from his bath.  Somewhere at the back of Dorian’s mind is a spark of pleasure at Cole’s bathing before coming to see him.  It’s flattering, to say the least.  Cole has to raise his head to maintain eye contact now, but he does so unabashedly.  Surely now he knows that Dorian knows.  Or at least thinks he knows. 

“It doesn’t always hurt, Cole.”  Dorian says, lamely.  He doesn’t know what else to say.  What Cole is asking of him is far too complex for Dorian to begin to explain.  He’s not equipped with the ability to explain sexual desires to a former spirit of compassion, especially when he’s sure that those desires, that unbridled curiosity that is a trademark of Cole’s, is firmly directed at him.  “It’s alright to just want to something more… visceral.”  He adds, watching Cole curiously.  “ _If_ that’s what you want.”

Cole looks confused and determined simultaneously.  “I want to _understand_ ,” he repeats.  Then he pauses; his thinking face is back.  Cole does that a lot, now that he can’t simply make people forget and try again.  Dorian can almost see Cole mentally mapping out what to say next, and all the different courses the conversation might take depending on what he says.  “I want you to help me understand.”  He says.

Dorian splutters, choking on some sharp quip he was about to say.  He expected something like this, anticipated Cole admitting to being curious about his own sexuality, or interested in Dorian – it would certainly explain all the time Cole endeavoured to talk to Dorian, help Dorian, _be remembered_ by Dorian.  But Dorian had not imagined that any confession of Cole’s would be spoken in such a domineering way.  If he’s entirely honest with himself (and that’s almost never, and for very good reason) Dorian enjoys it.  “And how do you propose I do that, _young man_?” 

“Do what you _want_ to do to me, there are flashes of it in your mind now, hurts you want to heal yourself.  It’s blurred, I can make it clearer for you.”  Cole continues, in a slightly breathless voice, like he’s getting carried away with himself.  Dorian flushes. Cole really is rather _cute_ , in his own way, with his large eyes and long eyelashes.  Dorian was unprepared for being confronted with that, combined with such implications… such dominating talk coming from that dark mouth of his. A devastating combination.

“You want me to help you understand how sexual attraction works?  You want _me_?”  Dorian reiterates as he moves forward to sit beside Cole.  He doesn’t feel like he needs further clarification, but he wants it nonetheless.

Cole nods, then has the gall to lean in closer to Dorian, no doubt emulating people he’s seen doing the same thing in the tavern.  “I don’t think I’ve felt it before. I want you to show me, so that I’ll know.”  There’s a small smile on his lips as he says it, though, and Dorian suspects there’s something much more selfish, much more primal, much more human, coming into play here.  Not that Cole himself seems to be aware of it. 

“Well then, why are we still talking?”  Dorian retorted, a chuckle bursting from his throat.  There is something insane about this entire procedure, but he isn’t complaining.  Cole is not handsome, not in the way that he, himself, is.  Not in the way Cullen is.  Cole is too asymmetrical, has too many sharp angles, to be handsome.  But there is a charm to him, something appealing in his features.  He’s small and lithe (though growing and developing as his body adjusts to being human – and, for the first time in his lifetime, properly cared for). There is almost an elegance to him.  Right now, he smells of lavender and soap, and feels soft and warm, and Dorian cannot object to the younger man offering himself to him like an overeager student.

Dorian shifts, relaxing into the softness of his bed.  Cole has already leant towards him to some extent, body awkward and stiff now that he’s got what he wanted.  Unsure of what to do next, Cole remains still, so Dorian moves his hand to Cole’s thigh, his thumb rubbing tiny circles into his leg.  “Do you really want this?”  He asks, his voice low, eyes watching Cole carefully.  He’s sure to be gentle with the younger man, sure to let the other set the pace.  Cole simply nods silently.

For a few seconds, they remain like that, quiet and still, then Dorian’s fingers move, just slightly, a tiny flexing of his fingertips against fabric and flesh.  He moves closer, his fingertips pressing slightly harder into the flesh of Cole’s thigh as Dorian’s free hand finds Cole’s shoulder.  It moves, tantalisingly slowly, from his covered shoulder to his bare neck, where Dorian sees Cole shiver slightly, and then crawls into his hair.  If it were anyone else, Dorian might be more confident, but this is Cole, and thus Dorian feels much more tentative.  Cole is different.

As if he knows – of course he does, he always does – Cole moves closer to him, twisting his body to face Dorian.  He reaches out and his hands find the front of Dorian’s shirt, and he pulls gently.  The smell of lavender is almost overbearing, as is the warm wetness Dorian feels as his fingers tangle themselves in Cole’s hair.  Cole’s eyes stare into Dorians, unwavering, expectant.  He brings himself closer, his breath hitting Dorian’s collar as he slouches forward. Tugging on Dorian’s shirt, Cole plants himself in Dorian’s lap, squirming slightly in a way that Dorian isn’t certain if he appreciates or not.  Dorian exhales through his mouth, and Cole closes his eyes.  They’re so close now that Dorian can see the blemishes in Cole’s skin, the small scar on his cheek, the way his hair still falls into his eyes.  Dorian’s hand tightens its grip on Cole’s thigh, trailing up his leg, as Cole’s grip on his shirt loosens.

Cole releases a trembling breath.

Cole’s mouth brushes against Dorian’s, so soft and so quick that Dorian barely registers it.  His bottom lip finds Dorian’s upper, then retreats far too quickly.  Cole opens his eyes again and frowns.

Dorian's hands move, one hand shifting from Cole’s thigh to his waist, and one hand falling from his hair to the same.  Holding the younger man in a firm grip, Dorian watches the other.  Cole’s hands slide up Dorian’s chest, come to rest on his shoulders, holding on tightly as if anticipating Dorian letting him go suddenly.

Dorian kisses the other again, pressing his mouth to Cole’s confidently, seizing his slightly parted lips.  He twists, turning them so they’re no longer perched on the end of the bed but facing the headboard, and pushes Cole down onto the mattress, pressing himself lightly upon the other man.  Cole’s hands tighten, for a moment, fingertips digging into Dorian’s shoulders.  His mouth falls away from Dorians for a second before Dorian reclaims it, hands sliding from Cole’s waist to his stomach.

Cole’s hands fall away, flailing and grasping, uncertain of where to be.  As one of Dorian’s hands works on Cole’s belt, the other finds Cole’s thin wrists, and holds them down, above Cole’s head. Dorian moves from Cole’s lips to his jaw, his neck, his collar.

Cole gasps, body squirming under Dorian slightly as he resists this new restraint, but when Dorian’s grip slackens, Cole emits a cry of “no!”

Dorian bites at Cole’s pale neck as his fingers rid Cole of his belt - it was only tied loosely, and distantly Dorian wonders if Cole planned that – but all thought is snatched from his mind as he tugs the strap of leather from around Cole’s hips and throws it to the side.  The clang as the buckle hits the floor makes Cole jump, hips bucking up into Dorian’s stomach awkwardly as he wriggles.  Dorian leans back, resting on his knees as he looks down on the young man under him.  Cole stares up at him, eyes meeting his as he breathes heavily.  Cole looks slightly dazed, even overwhelmed, but before Dorian can even begin to form the idea, Cole is breathing “don’t stop now!  _Please_!”

Dorian’s hand releases Cole’s wrist as he rushes to rip his shirt off him.  Cole is only too eager to help, and sits up to help tug the garment over his head, and when Dorian presses him against the mattress once again to bite little marks into his chest, Cole lifts his hips so his trousers and undergarments can be hastily torn off.  His thin frame jerks under Dorian as he kicks the garments off from around his ankles, his slippers falling from his feet in the process.  Then he realises that he is completely naked and a strange little giggle bursts from Cole, freed hands grasping as anything they could reach, sinuous body squirming.

“I want you to touch me,” he says, quietly, resolutely.  He almost sounds imperious, and Dorian rather enjoys that. Dorian lifts his head from where he’s leaving a mark upon Cole’s hip and stares down at the other as Cole smiles.  “Please?”

He’s actually _begging_ him.  That’s cheating.

Dorian drags himself up the bed to press his lips to Cole’s again, eliciting a small noise at the back of Cole’s throat as he moves to nibble at the soft flesh under Cole’s jaw.  Working his way down, his hands, previously digging into the mattress around Cole’s writhing frame, move to find that which is digging into his thigh so stubbornly.

Cole squeals when Dorian first touches him, a slow, drawn out stroke down his length.  Cole’s eyes squeeze shut, his brow furrowing.  He pants, dazed, uncertain.  One hand finds Dorian’s head, and pushes him downwards, voice tight and strained and crooning, fingers clenched tightly in Dorian’s hair.

“ _D-ori-an!_ ” he gasps, voice unsteady.  Desperate.

Dorian ducks his head down, moving his hands away, enjoying this more than he anticipated he would.  He’d had no objections to fucking Cole, but he’d not expected the other to be such a demanding, wanton little thing.  This is almost too much.  He’d be smug, make a smart comment about it, if it were anyone else.  The teasing would be rife; incalculable.  But he can’t bring himself to torment Cole.  Not verbally, at least. Cole’s not the sort that wit works with.  Besides, Dorian’s heart is hammering too hard in his chest for him to conjure up some dry quip.  This is Cole.   _This is Cole._

 _Cole_ is gasping, squirming underneath him, hips bucking under Dorian’s hands.

Dorian rests on his knees, toes curling under him as he leans back slightly, head hovering above the skinnier man’s pelvis.  Cole’s legs kick at the mattress petulantly, his fists clutching at either Dorian’s hair - pushing him down so insistently, so determinedly, that Dorian is certain Cole is mimicking something specific he’s seen others do during Cole’s looks into their heads.  That and Cole is reduced to acting upon his instincts, squealing as Dorian’s breath torrents over his exposed flesh.  Who is Dorian to refuse the young man?

His lips brush against the head of Cole’s cock delicately.  He hesitates, eyes flickering from the task at hand up to Cole’s face: his eyes are open, he’s glancing down at Dorian, eyes filled with pleasure and confusion simultaneously.  He looks overwhelmed, like he’s intoxicated, or drowning.  His lips are parted, chest rising and falling heavily as he tries to speak, but he can’t find the words, and all that he manages is a shaking, elongated “ _a-aah_!”

Dorian’s hands grip Cole’s hips, still bony despite the boy gaining some weight now.  He wets his lips with his tongue, all other thoughts vacant from his mind, before leaning forward and taking the head of Cole’s cock in his mouth.

Cole squeals, spine curling as he arches up from the bed sharply, like he’s been shocked by lightning, knuckles white as he grips the sheets beneath him.  His voice cracks and his cry breaks into a long, breathy gasp as he throws his head back.  “Dor-” He gasps, flushed, “ _Dori-Dor_ -Dorian!”  He shudders, attempting to lift his head so stare at Dorian at work, but he’s overcome again as Dorian’s fingers move to curl gently around the base of his length, caressing upwards teasingly as his mouth shifts, tongue circling Cole’s head firmly before he takes more of Cole into his mouth.

Cole wriggles, unable to keep still, or keep quiet.  Constantly, little mutterings are spat from his mouth, as Cole pant he tries to speak, but finds himself unable.  Only half of what he says is comprehensible.  Dorian closes his eyes.  His palm closes around the base of Cole’s length as he pulls away for a second, inhaling through his nose sharply, as Cole jerks and gasps something, hissing and writhing.

Dorian exhales through his nose, the air hitting Cole’s lower stomach, peppered with pale hair, before he leans in to take the other's cock in his mouth again, swallowing down as much as he feels he can take – as much as Cole can take, for he’s prostrate like a tightly wound coil at this point, legs kicked out and now held dead straight either side of Dorian’s shoulders.  Dorian’s lips meet his fingers at the base of Cole’s length, soft pink skin grazing the more course skin of his knuckles as the head of Cole's cock slid to the back of his throat.  Dorian swallowed, his teeth scraping the sensitive skin delicately – unintentionally – as his fingers curl around the base.

Cole hisses, stammering, trying to assemble a sentence.  “You-” he says, gasping for air, heavy-lidded eyes watching Dorian.  He likes to watch Dorian’s head bob up and down, likes to see them joined together physically.  Dorian can tell, and he feels like a whore for it but he thrives on being watched, loves that his student is that curious, that observant.  “You’re… I think I…”  Cole groans, jerking as Dorian’s tongue teases him.  He lets out a sudden shout, yelling “Please-!”

He refuses to even try to resist thrusting his hips up just slightly, eliciting a shameful moan from Dorian as Cole slams against the back of his throat.

“No!”  Cole yells, head thrown back, pulling away, hands slamming against the mattress again and again as his chest lurches into the air.  “Sto-o-p!” He cries, and Dorian’s mouth slackens, withdrawing.

Dorian uses his free hand to push Cole, thrust upwards towards the sky, down again.  Gently he murmurs his name, trying to soothe.  He moves away, startled, but Cole is giggling – but his breath is so laboured it sounds more like crying.

“I’m… sorry,” he says, lying still for a moment before staring down at the beads forming at the tip of his cock in vague interest, a look of sad regret forming.  “I liked that.” He reaches, running a finger down his own length experimentally, the gentlest touch Dorian’s ever witnessed, but his hand withdraws almost immediately.  “I am sorry, Dorian. I was tugged too tight.  I thought I might tear.  I’ve never felt so much at once before.”  He says, flitting between alliterative metaphor and lucid, conscious explanation.  “The water was rising, was going to overflow.  I was afraid.”

“It’s not… water, Cole.”  Dorian manages, feeling foolish.

Cole sits up, then, suddenly.  They are still very close to one another.  He stares into Dorian’s eyes sharply.  “You feel a fool; but you are not!  You _helped!  Thank you!_ ”  He gushes.  His fingertips, moist with sweat, drift to Dorians face, exploring the spaces between his cheekbones and his jaw tentatively, as a genuine smile lifts his face.  His hair is stuck to his forehead, and Dorian resists the urge to brush it aside.  “You helped me understand and now I know!”

Dorian says nothing for a moment, just observing the brightness in Cole’s eyes, highly conscious that he just gave him head, that he now had a very naked and still very erect young man perched before him, fingers tracing invisible lines on his face.  Dorian hopes Cole isn’t tracing wrinkles.

He doesn’t expect Cole’s mouth to press against his own.

When Cole pulls away, hesitatingly, the younger man leans away, flopping against the ignored pillows on Dorian’s bed.  He reaches for his discarded tunic, thrown to the corner of the bed, looking thoughtful.  “Can we do this again another time?”  He asks, staring at Dorian, who stares back, before a smirk curls Dorian's lips upwards.

“I don’t see why not, Cole, provided you let me finish next time.”

Cole nods, his chin bobbing up and down.  He is quiet again, for a short while, fingers tangling themselves in the fabric of the tunic.  Cole looks rather good in black and gold, Dorian thinks, distantly; though it’s the last time he’ll allow Josephine to help in organising a wardrobe for Cole.

“Can I do it to you, some time?” Cole asks, bringing Dorian from his reverie with blushing cheeks.

“You can do almost anything you like to me, Cole.”

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first ever completed smut fic that goes into actual detail. i think it’s fitting that the first one i’d write would be aimed purely at taking a massive shit on certain pissbabies. (all the dragon age fics i’ve started and this is the first one posted – fucking incredible, really.) 
> 
> also this totally references my current canon for da:o. tabris is my main/canon warden and i’ve got a load of ficlets of her run started…


End file.
